Our Paths, Troubled They May Be
by LcLaIr
Summary: The adventures of Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, and the creatures they hide in the shadows.
1. The Stray

The sound of blaring sirens all heading in one direction could only mean one thing: the Batman had struck again. Selina knew of him, of course. How could she not? 'The Batman' was all the underground to which she belonged talked about. Ever since Carmine Falcone was strung up in the shape of a bat three weeks ago Gotham City's predators had walked quickly to the corners in which they whispered about Him. Over those twenty-one days the whispers had turned to ravings: 'Is it really a giant bat?' 'A flying man?' 'I heard he drinks blood'. The ravings had given way to the one moniker that evoked the fear that permeated the streets and alleyways of Gotham's criminal kingdoms: The Night Demon.

"What do you suppose that's all about?"

Selina turned to her smaller, blonder companion.

* * *

Jennifer Robinson had been rescued from the pimps and deviants nearly half a year ago. Almost six months of training, teaching, and learning had transformed the would-be urchin into an amateur thief with skills bordering on rookie. A girl who was once left to the aimless will of the gutter was now well on her way making an illegitimate something of herself in the world.

Selina Kyle, meanwhile, had been nipping at the heels of mastery for the better part of half a decade. Ever since she had first stepped into this world three weeks into September, fifteen years short of the millennium, Selina Kyle has been one to look after herself. Being born to a manic depressive mother married to an alcoholic father didn't leave one much choice. Selina was raised on an altering diet of endless affection from her mother, and torturous indifference from her father. Occasionally he would work up enough interest to lash out with bruised hands after retreating her mother into a corner. It was after mental anguish claimed Mrs. Kyle by way of the noose two weeks shy of Selina's tenth birthday that the lanky girl decided to spend most of her time dodging outdoor lighting.

* * *

Selina had always had an interest in the martial arts, and it was only elevated when she forced herself to fend for life on the streets. She had leapt from dingy dojo to so-called dojo, eager to learn from the self-styled sensei of Gotham's underbelly. The aspiring black belt never stayed for more for than a few months at any one 'shanty temple', or with one trainer, but her keen mind was quick to absorb the techniques and traditions of the world's fighting styles. By the time she was twenty Selina had developed into an adept hand-to-hand specialist with some proficiency in firearms for added benefit. Combining the various forms into her own brand of fighting allowed Selina an unpredictability that few opponents could overcome, let alone match. But it was the basic nature of her profession that truly molded her into a formidable weapon.

Running from cops, crooks, and crazies built up an athleticism that the accomplished bandit maintained to this day. Latching on to older, more experienced thieves honed skills of infiltration, stealth, and thieving dexterity. Along with a world-class knowledge of breaking into that which was meant to stay sealed, came an innate agility that Olympic gymnasts would consider impressive. The only difference being that while they practiced on vaults and balance beams, Selina practiced on high-rises and fire escapes; with the added bonus of occasionally being chased by a bullet or portly proprietor. But her most seductive skill-set came from natural beauty and amorous friends.

* * *

Standing at one-hundred-seventy centimeters, with a 34-26-34 frame, Selina's lengthy legs held a slender body that didn't always reveal the strength contained underneath her skin. The years of trapezing across Gotham's skylines had given Selina a musculature that formed to her every curve. Sensuous, pouty lips, a thick head of lustrous brunette locks, and a neckline that pushed the boundaries of her C-cup support-wear tempted the willpower of any man, and a few women, she came across. Selina's beauty required her to flash little more than a smile to entice targets to her whims, but the five years she spent amongst the city's high-heeled streetwalkers elevated Selina's seduction to that of a Greek siren.

Le Chabanais was modeled after the infamous Parisian brothel that operated near the Louvre for nearly seventy years; counting Hermann Göring among its clients. The luxuriously decorated building was a bright spot amid the slums of Gotham's Oldtown, and its Madame was a contrast in character given the brutal ways most pimps operated their business.

Selina first met Madam Bissette during the summer of year zero of the new millennium, a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday. 'Bissette' was surely a pseudonym given that the Madam was neither French nor made of fine linen, but Selina never felt the need to ask and was content with calling her 'Bissy'. The finely-aged redhead seemed to enjoy Selina's company and was particularly fond of bestowing a lifetime of knowledge into the attentive teenager. For her part, Selina relished having a stable motherly figure who wasn't beholden to the desecration of a drunk.

When she reached her second decade, Selina had become adroit at luring men into her web. Selina's targets could only help but wonder how a seemingly innocent teenager had relieved them of so much, or how she had pilfered the information required to access their safes and accounts. How did she find out about their wives? Or their mistress? Or their mistress's mistress? How was this simple girl so skilled in blackmail? Extortion? And why did she always threaten her knowledge while wearing little more than lingerie, discarding it with each bluff?

The mysteries that clouded the eyes of her marks never eluded the dark-haired beauty. She knew that all men shared the same weaknesses; the same temptations; the same willingness to banish all their vows and promises when what was coveted lay before their feet. All she had to do was twinkle her eyes and push her breasts together and they would fall over themselves in demanding the nearest reservation. Perhaps the life of a high-class call girl with an affinity for kleptomania was something Selina could settle on. It was better than crawling back to the lump of meat that masqueraded as her father. Having complete independence at the price of what was between her legs was something Selina could contend with. Something that was easy to set in front of the longing for a different lot in life. Perhaps Madame Bissette could offer a life that would hold back the pining of a little girl whose illusion of happiness was hiding in a corner, wrapped within herself.

Until the Mafia came calling.

* * *

Selina knew all the familiar senses a burning building evoked. Living in the derelict dwellings of Oldtown one became accustomed to decaying structures propensity for self-immolation, but Le Chabanais was different. Sure, the lush tapestries that flowed from nearly every wall could present a hazard, but candles were always kept well away and cigars, pipes, and cigarettes were only allowed in the rooms or at the bars where there were plentiful opportunities to ash. The outside porticoes were also open to the pleasures of tobacco, but an entire civilization of concrete was available on which to dispose of smoldering embers. Le Chabanais wouldn't follow the natural arc of most of Oldtown's buildings, and Selina knew as much when she rounded the corner on New Year's Eve 2005.

Somewhere beneath the largest mass of fire she had ever seen was home, or what she had used as home for the past five years. Just outside its double-door entrance was the violated body of Bissy. Tending to what little time she had left were the shocked faces of Madame Bissette's erotic family. Girls that Selina had shared laughs, tears, and curses with. Girls that Selina had shared intimacies with in matters of business, and occasionally pleasure. The strange clan to which Selina belonged was standing helpless across the street while the flames of their tragedy licked at the remains of the matriarch.

Selina didn't allow herself to lament situations that could no longer be salvaged, but the girls that huddled together beneath the mocking rain didn't reside behind the walls she built, and so it was with all the delicacy she could afford that she became apprized of why she would have to walk into the cold embrace of the streets once again.

Carmine Falcone had decided that the girls of La Chabanais had worn out their welcome. Oldtown, along with the rest of Gotham, was his turf, and these harlots weren't paying him the respect, nor the money, he felt he deserved; and so his boys came knocking. It took a while for Selina to understand the relative futility of it all; why burn when you can build? Madame Bissette's bordello would have been worth a fortune to the Falcone Crime Family. In her naivety Selina learned that Carmine Falcone already had a fortune, but his authority was sacred.

Bissy, for her part, held a strong sense of honor. No see-through-sock-wearing thug was going to tell her what to do. Tell her how she would use her body, and with whom. Her girls were hers, they would never belong to the monsters of the Mafia. But her girls didn't use guns, knives, pipes, and fists to enforce their will. Their weapons were made of flesh, and flesh was easily bruised, which Carmine Falcone's soldiers knew all too well.

It was with a defiant sneer that Bissy met her end. She didn't cry when they yelled. She didn't cry when they struck; when they kicked; when they ripped, and when they raped. Only did she weep when her eyes were forced to look upon her defiled daughters. Only then did she allow herself to be used as the piece of trash the mobsters envisioned.

Selina still saw a beacon of hope even as its form was being swallowed by the orange glow. She wished that she wished she had been there. They wouldn't have crossed her. A few kicks from her sculpted legs and they would have run back to their master. The halls of La Chabanais would have remained clean, and its inhabitants safe. If only she had been there.

Selina knew that fate didn't think that much of her. Sure, she could have bested three or four of the mob brutes, but eventually she would have shared the destiny of Bissy and those that the inferno refused to release. Still, the daydreams that Selina kept in her head were always more comforting than the reality she faced, and the final hours of Selina the prostitute would be added to the library.

A promise would be made that night. Never again would Selina rely on anyone who didn't share her isolation. The finite generosity of others wouldn't direct her days. From now on Selina Kyle would control Selina Kyle.

* * *

"Hello? Earth to Selina?"

The hypnotic lull of Gotham's finest had been intruded upon by the big, blue, uplifted eyes of Jennifer Robinson and her windswept hair.

"What?" Selina asked, still trying to return from the recesses of her mind.

"The fuck you think is going on down there?" Receiving a neutral stare, Jen continued, "Holy shit, have you completely checked out?"

"Sorry, hun, got lost in the moment," Selina responded, with a playful smile.

"Ya don't say... Anyway, you have any opinion on the growth in fuzz?"

"Do you," came a response colored by raised eyebrows.

Despite Selina's best efforts these past few months, Jen's ingrained clueless nature didn't disappoint, "Well, um... It could be... uh... I don' think... Maybe it's... ah... Well what do you think happened?"

Selina stifled a groan, "Come on, kid, don't tell me I've been that lousy of a teacher."

"..."

"Take a shot in the dark."

"Aliens?"

"I fucking hate you... fucking aliens..."

Jen did her best to salvage some dignity, "Well la-di-da, your Highness. Some of us didn't grow up with Gotham's crime bosses as playmates."

That brought a genuine chuckle. "Mm-hm."

"Well, Selina Kyle, if you're so knowledgeable, feel free to end the suspense anytime," came the request, complete with exasperated hands.

"It's Him," Selina gave, with darkened eyes that looked toward her eyebrows.

Jen quirked her head sideways, obviously scanning her brain for help. "...'Him', who?"

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Jen."

"What?"

"The Batman. It's the goddamn Batman."

Wide-eyes of realization hit Selina squarely in the face. "Oh... Oh shit, you think we should be up here? What are we going to do if he catches us on the roof of a fucking jewelry store? I mean, I know you can kick some ass and I'm coming along, but by the sounds of it Batman could kill us with both his arms sawn-off."

"Then I guess we should be on our way. Want to follow the police?"

Jen's creased brow was accentuated by several light taps on Selina's forehead, "Everything okay up there?"

"Was until you started hitting it."

"Right."

"Think about it, all the cops will be down there focused on whatever caper Batman busted up, and if he is out tonight then scrambling over jewelry cases isn't the best of ideas. And ya never know, we might spot the freak himself."

Jen remained unconvinced, "Whatever. You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it."

With one last pair of smiles and scowls passed between them, the thieves made their way in the direction of the bouncing blue and red. Granted, Jen decided to take a route that deviated slightly from Selina's. Apparently this was her way of saying that she didn't approve.

* * *

"See him?"

"Nope. You?"

"All I see are a bunch of overweight cops who are pissed that they didn't get invited to the party."

"We could always go down there and give them one."

"Eh, I'm not too fond of getting my tits out for belts with notches that run the entire length these days."

"You mean... you were?"

"Bills don't pay themselves, sweety."

The scene below the roof of the wharf warehouse was one of mixed movement. On land, in front of the gaping cavern that was Falcone's shipping front the activity could best be described as subdued. Scattered about the premises were roughly two dozen mob hoods in various states of confinement. Some were tied to street posts; some were tied to themselves; others were tied to the unconsciousness that the Batman had delivered them to. The police busied themselves with identifying their quarry, careful to avoid the splayed limbs of the defeated criminals. Standing out from their brothers-in-blue were the plainclothes detectives who alternated between asking questions and dancing a pen across their notepads.

Up on the cargo ship were the tactical SWAT teams of Gotham PD. Selina doubted that those that remained on the moored vessel were ignorant of the situation on the dock, and wouldn't put up so much as a protest, but the SWAT teams sure did like to break out their toys.

A circle of SWAT members stood in the relative middle of the ship, surrounding a portion of the contraband contained below decks: a few stacks of cocaine kilos, a small cache of weapons, and a trio of young, foreign-looking girls.

"That seems a little excessive," spoke Jen, her eyes turned towards the cops charging up the gangplank. "I highly doubt any of the creeps inside are going to throw down against SWAT. Probably still balls deep in their cargo. Pricks."

Selina allowed herself a small smile. Jen was slowly showing her burgeoning smarts. "We could always go down and take a look."

"Ha, ya." Jen turned to sparkle her teeth at her companion, but was met with a questioning gaze. "Oh. You're serious."

"Why not?"

"Sorry, sexy, but I don't think even you have enough cleavage to distract half the force. Especially when they have their hands wrapped around their metaphorical dicks."

"Maybe-"

"...Maybe?" Jen turned to fully face her friend, only to find that her chin had tilted towards the towering buildings ahead of them. There was nothing up there that she could see. Selina must've walked behind the scary door in her head again, as she was prone to do. "Selina. Hellooo... Well when you're done strolling down memory lane, I'll be over here, amusing myself."

Selina had heard some grumblings coming from Jen's direction, but nothing short of fire and brimstone could tear her attention away from the looming darkness beyond.

There he was. Standing tall against the wind, his cape billowing, encompassing him in a terrifyingly surreal form. The concealment was such that he would pop in and out of view when the lightning at his back offered illumination. It was as if he was a part of the the night itself. An agent sent to punish those who had abused the dark blanket of the twilight hours. He was at least a thousand feet away, but Selina still felt a paralyzing fear shiver up her spine. She couldn't help but think that she would turn to run and there he'd stand, ready to castigate the twenty-one-year-old beauty for the ills of her life.

Selina felt her feet will themselves away from the roof's edge, a motion that did not go unnoticed by her perky partner.

"Finally. Welcome back to the land of the living." Jen's quip garnered no response. "Hey, you alright?"

A friendly hand on her shoulder snapped Selina from of her dread, "Huh? Oh. Ya. Never better." Selina hung a pitiful smile, fake from corner to corner, between her colorless cheeks.

"Uh, alright... Let me know if any of those demons follow us back tonight. The place's a mess."

"Demons don't exist, Jen. At least not the ones you're thinking of."

Jen shrugged her shoulders and moved to leave. Selina gave one last look over her shoulder, distressed to find that the Batman had abandoned his perch. Her eyes scanned every crevice that harbored no light as she quickened her pace, eager to return to the comforting presence of little Jen Robinson.

This new anxiety disturbed the confidant cat burglar. Selina had always treated her solo sojourns into the night as a source of pride. A woman playing in the dungeon of dungeons? That was something only she did. Something only she could lay claim to. Only Selina Kyle could say that she laughed into the face of evil and came out with all her fingers and all her toes. But Batman had changed things. Batman had made the feared fearful. Batman had made Selina Kyle think twice about running across Gotham's rooftops.

Now that a malevolent force shared the lease.

* * *

A/N: Well alright then. This story is set in the Nolanverse and I envision the timelines as such:

BB: summer 2007 – winter/spring 2008 (I realize there wasn't any snow on the ground during the end of BB, but in my mind Bruce's birthday takes place in February and thus the final battle takes place during the winter with the salvaging scene of Wayne manor taking place in the beginning of Spring)

TDK: fall 2008 – winter 2008

TDKR: summer/fall 2016 – winter 2016/2017

If someone has verified dates for the movie's universe please let me know. Also, if anyone is feeling ambitious I'd appreciate someone designing a picture for my story as I'm entirely too lazy to do it at present.

And if you see any mistakes, or have any suggestions, let me know.


	2. Black Jack Blue

Far below, the results of the Batman's hunt were still unfolding. Scurrying to all corners of the local dock were the often ridiculed members of Gotham's police department. The ceremoniously armed citizens were not completely devoid of merit, but their shortcomings had built up more credit. Ever since the exalted heads of the Wayne family were gunned down those that were sworn to serve and protect had had twenty years to find acreage in the palms of the city's nefarious kings.

The Batman would be different. The Batman would reignite the light that had been lost in the shadows.

* * *

A heavy vibration centering on his right hip cascaded down the corresponding thigh and back up through his second skin. Batman grasped the repurposed cell phone and brought it within the necessary range.

"Any updates, sir?" A thick English accent sprinkled with hints of dry humor emanated from the small speaker.

"They haven't made it into the warehouse yet." A tinge of impatience accompanied the words.

"All in good time, sir. You must remember that their procedures differ from yours."

A short grunt was the only response.

"Master Bruce, with how thorough your adventure through the warehouse most likely was, the authorities will have more than enough time to contemplate their thanks."

"Alfred, we both know the honest cop ratio down there is fifty/fifty at best. I'm going to-" Any further mention of his immediate plans was interrupted by the calming voice of his oldest friend.

"Master Bruce, you're going to offer some trust if you truly hope to make a difference. Batman can't cure Gotham's ills on his own."

The knowledgeable butler's advice was met by silence. Bruce had a penchant for ignoring advice that would make his life easier, and that trait had only grown since the creation of the Batman. Bruce did, however, greatly value his advice and was sure his friend took great satisfaction when he was able to break through his stubborn nature. A satisfaction which was to be rewarded again.

"...Fine. I'm going to head over to-" Bruce's acquiesce was cut short. Instances such as this always caused Alfred some worry, almost all of which proved to be unfounded, but there was always the chance that Bruce had finally pushed his luck one day too far.

"Master Bruce?"

"One second."

A small release of air trickled out from the receiver Batman still held. The butler had assumed the worst. But the 'the worst' was instead 'the curious'.

To his left, on a building half as tall as the one he had perched himself were two females clad entirely in black. They appeared to be watching the scene he had created, but did not appear to be at all interested in the well-being of the injured or the confined. _Not allies then; simple interest?_

"Alfred, there are two individuals on the warehouse's roof. Both female. All-black clothing."

"Strange... Falcone's?"

The Falcone Crime Family was known for using women in roles beyond those doomed to stained mattresses and dirty streets corners. Although their gender prevented them from ever becoming formal members of the syndicate, Falcone's high-heeled spy ring utilized anatomical talents that often proved more powerful than the bullet or the bribe.

But the two women below the Batman's scalloped cape did not seem the type.

"Doubtful. Too much clothing. And they're standing on a roof."

Bruce could hear the gears turning in Alfred's head, "Well that is... Perhaps you should follow them, sir."

"Not tonight. I still have to go to The Saloon."

'The Saloon' was the headquarters of Giacomo Alderisi; a newly-appointed caporegime of the Falcone Crime Family. Giacomo was known as 'Black Jack Blue'; a name derived from his method of brutally beating his loan shark victims. Beyond his shylock business, Black Jack Blue was known as one of the most accomplished hitmen in Gotham. Police suspected his involvement in forty-three murders; forty of which he is believed to be personally responsible. The seedy rumors that the Batman was privy to increased that count to sixty-seven. Given his efficiency in murder and his ability to generate large amounts of illicit income, his promotion to head of his own Mafia crew came as little surprise. It was more surprising that had not been promoted sooner. Some reconnaissance was needed.

"Very well, sir. Please do take care to limit your drinks." Alfred never seemed to grow tired of poking fun at Bruce's self-imposed teetotaler ways.

"You know me," Bruce responded, his growled voice cracking with amusement.

"Indeed. Happy hunting, sir."

Batman stifled a smile as he attached the communicator to his belt. A quick step to his side delivered him to the waiting arms of gravity, dragging him down several stories before he applied the electricity to the cloth rippling above his head. A loud crash of air caught under his formed wing and Batman angled himself south, towards his next target.

* * *

Tonight had been a terrible night for Giacomo Alderisi. First, one of his crew got himself perished after wandering too far into Irish territory with a mouth too loud. Another casualty in a decade-old series of tit-for-tat disagreements. A situation in which there was never enough conflict to call it open warfare, but there was also far too little cooperation to consider it peace. Such was its state that underlings rarely needed permission from superiors to retaliate, attempt takeovers and engage in violent competition. The state of affairs between Giacomo's mob and , as the Italians referred to them, the 'Potato Boys' was 'this is how it is, so just roll with it'. In other words, stay in your territory or tighten your gun belt.

Aside from having to plan a retaliatory hit, Giacomo was also having to deal with his latest Mexican shipment getting stopped at the port. At first he was legitimately confused. _How could this happen? Did I forget to pay off the cops? Did they finally grow some balls?_

A half hour of seething was interrupted by a homeless boy turned lookout. The news he brought was far worse than he had anticipated.

The Batman. _Shit._

If the Batman was really on to him, only two weeks into his new job, then he was going to have bigger problems than drunk Irishmen with spastic trigger fingers. A vigilante as dangerous as the Batman could cause greater headaches than criminal rivals. Rivals he could understand. But a highly-trained freaked dressed like a giant bat? How the fuck do you deal with that?

Fortunately, Giacomo would be dealing with more pleasant things tonight. Any minute now the boys he had dispatched to collect Lady Bosom would be returning with the wench herself. Tonight she would pay for failing to heed the edict of Black Jack Blue.

But not before they had some fun first.

* * *

The scene below him stirred a bubbling mixture of revolting rage. Tied naked to a poker table was a woman Batman recognized as a madame under the employ of the Falcone Crime Family. More specifically, she took orders from, and gave money to Giacomo Alderisi; or one of his crew now that he was a level higher than the streets. But her current situation inferred that she had failed those conditions in some aspect.

A myriad of cuts, abrasions, and dried blood indicated that she had been severely beaten. Evidence of gang rape was present in the collection of wounds centering around her pelvic region as well as the half-dozen men surrounding the table in various states of undress.

While his thugs taunted the sobbing woman Giacomo himself held court in a chair at the woman's feet. Next to him sat a circular fire pit lined in copper that was filled with flaming clothes. As a seemingly final insult, Giacomo had burned the assaulted women's clothes close enough so that the flames danced across her heels.

Batman had come here to observe and detect, but a violent intrusion was needed, and desired.

* * *

"What did I tell you? All you had to do was lose a few of 'em. Look at you now."

Giacomo Alderisi continued berating the helpless woman before him. Had he not been so infuriated with her there may have been some pity. As it was, there was nothing but contempt. If she had just followed his orders this whole mess could have been avoided. Sure, the boys wouldn't have had their fun, but it's not like they couldn't have demanded it any time they wanted. That was the price of marriage to the Falcones, 'We'll protect you, but you do what we want'. Breaking that agreement brought tragic consequences. Something Lady Bosom had chosen to forget.

"What the fuck do you care 'bout them anyways? You think they give a fuck about you?"

It should have been so simple. A couple of hookers that no one gave a shit about disappear, and a friend comes home. That was the plan after Joseph Provenzano, consigliere of the Falcone Crime Family, was arrested on suspicion of serial murder.

Everyone knew about Joey Pro's addiction to the runaways and the exploited that populated the city's whorehouses. What everyone didn't know was Joey's preference for abducting, torturing, and murdering the unfortunate victims his lecherous gaze fell upon. It was somewhat of a testament to Joey Pro's criminal skills that he kept this deviance hidden from his Mafia brothers. Brothers who came to his aid in an attempt to pervert justice. Joseph Provenzano's scheme for freedom had its genesis in the mind of the man overseeing Lady Bosom's torment.

Giacomo thought it was brilliant. Kidnap a couple two, three girls, make them disappear, and get Lady Bosom to testify that a different man stole them from her brothel. She, sure might end up doing a little time down the road for running a prostitution ring, but at least the Family would have its advisor back. Instead, the madame decided to stand up in her role as lady of the house. Now, Joey Pro was still in prison and Lady Bosom was tied to a table.

"Well, I guess it's about time to end the party."

Giacomo punctuated his declaration with the removal of his belt. He would get to have his bit of fun, release some of the day's tension and then they'd finish the bitch off. They wouldn't need to take their time with this one, not after what she's always been through. But maybe they would anyway. That'd teach her. Teach everyone what happens when you cross the Falcones. However she died, they'd soon be rid of her trouble. Perhaps they'd even go back to her place, have a couple of her girls. Maybe they'd finish off the night by shooting some Irish after a rousing drink.

Giacomo could only smile with glee as wrapped his hands around the slender ankles covered in blood. Whatever happened, the night wouldn't be a total loss.

Until it rained glass.

* * *

Batman waited to burst through the skylight until two of the four assailants were below its light. The shower of glass brought both men two their knees, which were soon subjected to the weight of the vigilante. An armored forearm cut short any protest the duo could have uttered, and Batman set about surveying the rest of the room.

In what was surely an attempt at setting an unsettling mood proved to be a fortuitous decision for the Batman. Giacomo and his gang of vultures had chosen to bathe their dungeon in nothing more than candlelight. Batman could move swiftly with little chance of being spotted in any meaningful way.

Ahead of him was the poker table, and the object of his dramatic entrance. Beyond her was a bar, against which two more of the Mafia hoods were shielding their faces. Behind him sat a large wooden desk and leather chair, which was deserted at present. To his left was Giacomo, trying his best to scramble out of an overturned chair and presumably towards the doors against the wall behind him. The final two gangsters were to the right of the table. The larger of the two had fallen through an open bathroom door while the smaller man had rolled off his place atop the pool table and against the wall adjacent to the bathroom.

Batman bolted from his crouch and delivered a brutal kick to Giacomo's ribs as the mob captain raised himself on all fours. A sickening snap echoed throughout the room and the wheezing capo instinctively grabbed at his right shin. Batman had brought all his weight down upon the bone, ensuring that Black Jack Blue wouldn't be going anywhere without considerable pain and effort.

By now, the rest of the occupants in the room were aware of the intruder. Batman looked upon the vacant face of Lady Bosom, and was slightly emboldened by the hint of a smile in her eyes. She, like all of Gotham's criminals, knew of the Batman and was most assuredly grateful for his presence, but at the same time wondering why he was risking himself for her. Where she once may have cursed him, she now offered silent thanks. To still contain such hope after what she experienced strengthened Batman's drive to end her tormenters' delight quick and painfully. The two men rising from their hunched stances against the bar were his next targets.

Batman dove into the man on the left, carrying him over the bar and into the mirror hanging from the wall at its back. A shattering punch to his jaw left the man crumpled on the floor, and Batman extended his right arm as he turned towards the bar's remaining patron. The scallops of his right gauntlet raked against the man's face and he had little time to react to the pain before Batman jumped the counter with his knee landing solidly into the underside of the man's chin.

Diagonally and to his right lay the man who had been occupying the pool table. He had not moved from where he fell and was visibly shaking. A true coward, then. Seeing that he was going to offer no resistance, Bruce settled on hoisting the man off the floor by his neck and driving a hard knee into his testicles. The anguish on the man's face was wiped clean by a ferocious headbutt and he was left to slump on the parcel of floor he had been removed from.

To Batman's right came the largest of group, his head still foggy from whatever had stopped his fall into the bathroom, the brute staggered out into the dim light with rapidly blinking eyes. Any further advance was halted by the top of Batman's right foot, knocking the mobster back into the darkness he had just escaped.

With all marks dealt with Batman turned his fury back towards the ringleader. Batman had questions; Giacomo had answers.

Answers that Batman would not get to hear. At least not now. The pain from a snapped tibia had proven too much, and shock had robbed Giacomo of his consciousness during Batman's incapacitation of his men.

The innocent could now be tended to.

"Call it in."

"Yes, Master Bruce. Will the young woman be alright?"

"I'm checking her now."

Batman had apprised Alfred of the madame's situation while he worked at freeing her from the ropes, belts, and chains serving as restraints. A cursory examination indicated that Lady Bosom would achieve a full recovery. At least physically. The mental scars were sure to remain.

After careful manipulation and some rather unhelpful squirming, the bonds secured at Lady Bosom's wrists and ankles were cut, and to Batman's genuine surprise that woman leaped from the table and wrapped her arms around him. A constant muttering of thanks escaped from her mouth at little more than a whisper.

It was this overwhelming gratitude that caused Batman to do what he would have considered out of character: he provided comfort. His left hand ghosted across the small of her back, and his right hand gently caressed the back of her head while bringing her face upon his shoulder. For ten minutes the Batman absorbed the desolation consuming the woman.

A smattering of police sirens lifted Lady Bosom's face from Batman's armored pauldron. Her eyes shifted to his, and with a pained smile she spoke with her full voice, "Thank you."

Batman considered the woman before him for a second. Prior to the events of tonight he would have discarded the madame as another one of the useless wretches produced by the corruption that permeated all facets of Gotham society. But perhaps didn't deserve to be judged in black and white. Perhaps some of them deserved a touch of grey.

"The cops are outside. Tell them everything you know."

Batman untangled himself from Lady Bosom's embrace and retrieved a long coat from a nearby rack. Its placement over her shoulders seemed to bring an instant warmth to a woman whose night was drowned in cold indifference, and a final smile chased the Batman as he lifted himself back through the shattered skylight.

For the first time since his crusade began Batman experienced the change he sought. Tomorrow, Bruce Wayne could wake with the knowledge that he was making a difference.

* * *

Selina Kyle lazily stretched across her bed as a burst of cool air roused her from the beginnings of a deep sleep. Selina preferred to sleep without the encumbrance of clothing, which when combined with a heavy comforter and the increasingly cool nights made for an almost hypnotic rest. However, there were those nights when Selina was so tired that she simply sprawled across her mattress, heedless of how her state of undress would work against her desire to sleep. Tonight was one of those nights.

Selina sighed in agitation as she climbed out of bed and shuffled over to the window, wrapping cold arms in cold hands as she walked. Peering to the streets below the unreserved cat burglar was met by the gawking stares of a group of frat boys. What they were doing in Oldtown Selina could only guess at, but something had caught their attention.

It wasn't until Selina's hands graced her exposed breasts that she realized the object of her desire. Luckily for them, Selina was awake, and just chipper enough to engage in some harmless teasing. A few seductive stretches and wandering fingers and the young men would be scampering for the nearest bathroom.

"Selina!"

_So much for fun._

Jen's shout perforated Selina's bedroom door and stormed into her ears. _Perhaps I should look into that soundproofing after _all. Usually, if Selina ignored Jen long enough, the young girl would forget about her request for attention and go back to whatever intrigued her, but this wasn't one of those instances.

"Selina! Goddamnit, come here!"

_Motherfucker_.

"Sel-"

"What, Jen? What the hell is so goddamn important at three in the morn... Oh my god." Selina's indignation turned to concern as the television projected the image of a familiar face prostrated on a stretcher.

"Selina... Selina that's Jayne."

Jen spoke aloud what both already knew. Jayne Walters was strapped to a medical gurney and was being wheeled away from a well-known mob hangout. That didn't leave too many options as to what happened behind those ugly walls.

Selina knew Jayne Walters as 'Jay'. Jen knew her as 'Big Mama'. The women in 'the trade' knew her as 'Jayne Mansfield', a friendly nickname that stemmed from her similarities in bust size to the Hollywood sex symbol. This joke among friends evolved into the moniker by which the world-at-large knew Jayne Walters: Lady Bosom.

Selina had met Jayne two years ago while involving one of Jayne's girls in a theft. All Selina needed from her were the secrets that the coy fluttering of eyes could glean. Jayne was against her involvement until Selina informed her that her target was a wife-beating oil executive. Of course, that was all bullshit, but the two women became fast friends anyway.

Jen had been introduced to Jayne about two months after Selina plucked her from the street. Since then, Jen would stay with Jayne whenever Selina left Gotham for more than a day. Jen's fear of being alone was still prevalent, and the company of naked women covered in sweat and the shame of strangers never seemed to bother her. She was just happy knowing that Selina wasn't the only gentle soul to crawl out of Gotham's sewers.

"What?" Selina turned towards the wide-eyed teenager having missed her latest question.

"How di... I don't... Why would they do that to her and let her go?"

"I don't think _they _did."

Jen cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow, "What do you mean?"

Selina simply nodded back towards the TV.

"_Yes, Marie. Unconfirmed reports state that the vigilante known as 'Batman' personally interceded in the assault on Ms. Walters. The police are refusing to comment, but we believe that elements of the Falcone Crime Family perpetrated the assault and were stopped by the Batman. It is believed that he inflicted several injuries upon the assailants and left them to be apprehended by the authorities. We do no-"_

"_Jay... Jas... Jason."_

"_Yes, go ahead, Marie."_

"_Do we know if the police are seeking the Batman for testimony?"_

"_We do not, Marie. The police have refused to answer all questions regarding the Batman's latest sighting, only saying that the vigilante is to be arrested on sight..."_

Jen turned her attention to Selina once again, "Why would he save her? She's a crook like the rest of us." Jen's eyes began to shine in the captured light of the lamp.

Selina didn't miss the forthcoming tears hanging from her young friend's lashes and situated herself next to her on the couch. Her slender, goose-bump-covered arm wrapped the sniffling blonde in a warm embrace.

Though she was better at hiding it, the images on the TV had disturbed Selina as well, but her vast experience with such horrors gave her a perspective Jen could scarcely grasp.

"We aren't like them, Jen, and neither was she. All they care about is money and the power that it brings them. The live to terrorize good people. There are monsters in this city, Jen," Selina shifted the girl's head so that their eyes were aligned, "We aren't them."

"But we stea-"

"We steal because we have to; because the cards we hold aren't as shiny as the ones we try to cheat off of. We don't steal from anyone who doesn't deserve it. The things we take come from people who got them by stepping on anyone and everyone. Remember that."

Jen lifted her head slightly, contemplating the moralities Selina outlined.

"Okay... I still can't believe he'd... Wait... You saw him tonight, didn't you?"

It was Selina's turn to furrow a brow.

"What? Who? I've been here since we got back. I was a good girl: shower, vitamins, and straight to bed," Selina emphasized her point with a high chin and a cross over her chest.

"No, not that. I can tell when you've gotten laid, Selina. Your eyes do this thing where... Actually, I haven't seen that for a while... You must be sleeping with some terrible... Nevermind. I mean you saw _him_. The Batman. Out there on the dock when you checked out."

Selina let her arm fall from Jen's shoulders and back to her side, her hand resting on her thigh. She had been thinking of the Batman before the TV ruined any hope of blissful sleep. Not that the demonic image she had conjured up for the terrifyingly mysterious crusader would help in that regard. Then again, if he would save a prostitute maybe he wasn't that scary.

"Ya, he was up on the old Profer Shipping building."

Jen sent a playful scowl in Selina's direction, "Well what the fuck? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't need a starry-eyed teenager falling all over herself in fangirl lust."

"Oh you bitch. Just because I think there's a sexy hunk of man-meat under all that armor doesn't mean I'd let him lead me around like a puppy."

"Right. I've seen how well you do when a pretty smile gets flashed your way." Selina leaned back against the couch and snapped a cocky wink.

"Oh, you're one to talk, Miss Kyle. If Bruce Wayne walked through our door right now you'd tear your... your... Why are you naked?"

Selina's eyes doubled in size and she crossed her arms across her chest, and her legs across each other. "Uh, well... Ya never know, Gotham's most eligible bachelor could walk through that door any minute and I can't let him wander around this shithole while I wrestle with a bra."

Jen curled against the couch in laughter, her dismay slowly evaporating. "Ya, I don't think a billionaire would last too long under this roof. But hey, at least it doesn't leak. And if it's any consolation, you have fantastic tits."

"Thanks, Jen."

* * *

A/N: So I decided on referring to Batman as 'Batman' when he's Batman... I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit, and on the slitted sheet I sit... unless he's interacting with Alfred in some regard. If that's the case I'll refer to him as Bruce as I see Batman shifting back towards being Bruce Wayne whenever Alfred is around.

Also, as I've seen others do, I decided on putting the internal thoughts of characters in italics; does it work?

Any thoughts,suggestions, or spotting of mistakes are always appreciated. And I'm still too lazy to get myself an image for this story... hintity hint hint...


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